April 25th 1710 saw the birth of James Ferguson at Rothiemay near Keith in Banffshire.

James Ferguson is almost forgotten about nowadays, yes he gets a mention from me a couple of times a year and a limited audince on my Facebook group and Tumblr page, but in the 18th century he was a phenomenon, a self-educated astronomer and philosopher whose books sold widely and whose lectures on various subjects were the equivalent of the Royal Institution Christmas Lectures today.

His father was a farm labourer, but Ferguson rose from abject poverty to become the greatest populariser of science of his day, and much of his success derived from the fact that he was able to explain complex matters such as Newton’s laws in language that was clear and easily understood, perhaps a legacy of his own self-taught, which is much more than me, I’ve said before much of Mathematics is way over my head, don’t even start me on algebra or logarithms! 

Sometimes referred to as the "wheelwright of the heavens", showing remarkable intelligence and keen interest in all things mechanical, his only formal education was at the age of seven for three months to the grammar school at Keith. 

In 1734 he went to Edinburgh, where he began to make portraits in miniature, by which means, while engaged in his scientific studies, he supported himself and his family for many years. Subsequently, he settled at Inverness, where he drew up his Astronomical Rotula for showing the motions of the planets, and places of the sun and moon. 

He went to London in 1743, making mechanical devices and publishing the odd paper in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society , of which he became a Fellow in November 1763. Throughout his life, he devised astronomical and mechanical models.  His breakthrough came with the publication of Astronomy explained upon Sir Isaac Newton’s Principles in 1756,, which was so popular it required a second edition a year later. 

  James Fergusson  died aged 66 in London on 17th November 1776 and was buried in St Marylebone churchyard, find out a wee bit more ablout him at the link below 

Italian instrument maker and the inventor of the piano. Her piano hits the strings with the hammer allowing for volume control. She hits piano keys aggressively whenever she is angry.

Cyrus Cassells

Cyrus, always I try to put my soul

into building a guitar,

here on Cuesta de Gomerez,

full of sovereign guitar-makers,

street slanting up to an arch

of the colossal Alhambra.

What I worship is the feeling of the wood

in my hardworking hands,

wood selected and dried

for a three-decade minimum,

so I’m refining Mediterranean

or Canadian cypress,

Macassar ebony, and Lebanese cedar

that my paternal grandfather chose,

Abuelo Leonel who perished

the Satan-hot August

right before I was born

into a dynasty of on-fire

flamenco musicians and dancers.

Imagine, a top notch guitar

means perhaps a hundred hours

of dedicated labor, and, so help me,

I don’t work by the clock—

Sometimes it costs me

most of a day to adjust

the nitty-gritty strings and frets,

to insure the vigorous, brave sound

we’re famous for in Granada:

due to the vega’s dry air,

instruments from the Andalusian school

are (no doubt about it!) lighter,

distinctive—like a palace starling

or a peerless voice

that gently breathes and sings

in a stone basilica on Sunday morning—

acoustic splendor and tone to rival

the able makers in Madrid—

At the fabled Moorish citadel’s hem,

I bring my busy-as-hell hands

to the timeless task of planing

and judge the thickness

of my newly launched guitars

with my tried-and-true fingers.

The tradition, I tell you, is to present

your very first guitar as a gift

to the regal, lullaby-whispering woman

who latched you to this bustling,

wondrous world:

Oh what an exhilarating day

when my never-fail mother, Primavera,

carefully inspected my first ever piece,

proclaiming (almost singing it!):